An old man wanders down the road.
built by his fathers. He looks for a
place to rest for the last time.
he has a story to tell, as all old men
 do. But he has no younglad to tell.
 nor will he speak it at all. I will tell
 it, as he has long forrgotten words
 and their meanings. HIs story begins
 with his birth, all good stories
 do, His birth however is meaningful
 to every child of man. He was the
 last child. One day young boys
 knew no younger boys, men had
 no sons, women had no daughters.
 He lived a lonely world. without
 compainion for fourty years, that is
 something has has grown to live with.
 But never known. he never knew how to
 read or write. he once could count
 his fingers and toes but all he can
 muster in his last day is one, two three
 as he lays his old head in the tall grass,
 he does not wonder, regret, or suffer.
 he has had his share of those.
 Josia, looked up at the night sky
 where stars did not shine for
 a lenght of time. Where few
 animals strayed. He laid there
 asleep for the last time, breathing
 the last breaths of man.

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